


youre the eighth wonder

by byecroft



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Friends to Lovers, Karaoke, M/M, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Recreational Drug Use, not going to finish this but enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26483569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byecroft/pseuds/byecroft
Summary: keith and shiro go on a road trip during their spring break. shenanigans ensue. shiro pines uncontrollably.tw: weed
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a summer or two ago and i love it but i will never finish it, however my friends wanted me to post it, so here it is
> 
> here is the spotify playlist i made: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1BQOM7j1bngNSbQiMaOvz8?si=70KgifbUT7GHJiL1kG_qvA

Spring break was a blessing that was only granted once midterms were over, it was the light at the end of the tunnel after weeks of all-nighters and constantly shaking due to the disproportionate balance of more caffeine running through your veins than actual blood. 

Shiro was lucky, he only had two real tests – which was a true gift compared to other people – but that was balanced out by the three papers he had due.  
When it finally hit midnight and he submitted his final paper it felt as though the sky had opened up and graced him with the first peak of sun after a dark and dreary winter.

That was an hour ago. That was when he felt free, when he thought he could finally relax.

He was wrong.

“So, are you gonna finally do it or am I gonna have to deal with you coming back waxing poetic about how his eyes are more beautiful than the sunset over the Rocky Mountains?” Matt asks, leaning back in his chair, a very strategically placed array of color-coded flash cards spread out on his desk.

Shiro glares at him from his position on the floor in front of a half-packed duffle bag, “I would never do something like that!”

He knows it was a futile attempt when Matt turns fully around in his chair, giving Shiro his most unimpressed face.

“Just yesterday you spent five minutes explaining to me how you think his hair would be softer than the hoodie you’re currently wearing,” he says, grabbing his phone from the desk, “and I’m pretty sure I have video proof of you drunkenly telling Allura that his eyes are the same color as her amethyst crystal but somehow even more – and I’m using your words here – ‘powerful and healing’ than her crystals ever will be.”

Shiro vaguely remembers that night but doesn’t dwell on it, instead he makes a mental note to erase that video from existence. He continues to roll his clothes into the “burrito” that Keith sent him a video about, trying to focus on that process rather than Matt’s lecture. 

The sad part was that Matt wasn’t wrong, Shiro knew he had a problem when it came to talking about Keith – the problem was that he never stopped talking about him. He hasn’t stopped since they met back in Keith’s freshman year, a full three and a half years ago – Matt was tired of it but Shiro couldn’t stop. 

It wasn’t like he planned to find the love of his life crouched on the roof of the science building, using a stack of books as a tripod. Keith claimed it was the best spot to get a view of the sunset and Shiro couldn’t agree more, but to be honest he probably would’ve agreed with anything Keith said that night – he had already been in too deep. Shiro knew that his internal references to Keith as the love of his life were probably premature – he was only 25, he theoretically still had a long while to find that person for him, but he was pretty sure it already happened. Keith had looked at him once and Shiro’s heart hasn’t beat the same since. It was stupid and fruitless, Shiro knew better than to think that Keith would love him back, knew better than to think that even if Keith did care about him the same way Shiro cared about Keith that it wouldn’t be at the same magnitude. Shiro was positive that no one could feel for him the amount he felt for Keith. 

It just made this whole ordeal worse.

Matt spins back around to face his desk, picking up a few cards, lining them up and straightening them out against the wood. The small clack breaks through Shiro’s introspective silence, “Seriously though, you’re spending over twenty-four hours alone in a car with this guy – and that’s not counting how you’ll be spending all of your time together while at the park – so all I’m saying is that now is a good time to start anything if it’s going to start.”

Shiro sighs as he puts his last clothing burrito into his duffle bag and zipping it closed, “I don’t know if he wants something to start, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want something to start…” 

He swears he hears Matt take a breath and quietly count to ten.

“I’m not going to yell at you because I know this anger is stemming from my impending midterm, but how are you so fucking dumb?” 

Shiro looks up from where he’s now seated on his bed, in a little bit of shock from what Matt said.

Matt’s face falls, realizing the effect his outburst had on Shiro, “Look, all I’m saying is that I think he wouldn’t mind if something were to start, but whether or not you do something is up to you.”

It takes a second for Shiro to wonder if arguing with Matt is worth it – it probably isn’t, Matt was trying to study. So instead he moves to turn off the light by his bed, “Good night, go study.”

Matt makes a noise of acknowledgment, now focused on studying, and Shiro forces his thoughts to quiet down as he falls asleep.

. . .

It’s nearly nine in the morning when Shiro finally sees Keith walking over to his car. Shiro’s five-year-old Toyota Camry sits in the student parking lot by Keith’s dorm on the other side of campus.

The fact that nine is still too early an hour for Keith is apparent by the way his hair sticks up in a couple of places that it usually doesn’t.

“I just got up like fifteen minutes ago, I’m pretty sure I put on shorts instead of boxers,” Keith says as he pulls open the car’s popped trunk, “I’m a mess.”

Shiro can’t help but give a small smile, “Is there a reason that you decided to bring along a two-pound bag of Sour Patch Kids?”

Keith stops for a moment, hands around said two-pound bag of Sour Patch Kids that he had been in the process of putting down, he glares up at Shiro, “Driving is tiring and I’m not having you knock out on me halfway through my shift, so suck it up and enjoy the sugar.”

Shiro doesn’t respond, just walks over and gets into the driver’s seat.

It’s about a thirteen-hour drive from Arizona to Montana and Shiro said he’d take the first shift – knowing that Keith was going to be like this.  
When Keith finally shuts the passenger door, they start off on the first leg of their trip.

The college they go to is surrounded by small town that is surrounded by seemingly endless empty stretches of land. For miles and miles there’s nothing of interest but a few patches of wildflowers. It makes for a pretty monotonous drive.

It isn’t long before he hears Keith’s small snores and resigns himself to turning on the podcast that Keith hates and setting it on low.

. . .

“Hey, Shiro,”

It’s been about forty-five minutes since Keith has said a word after waking up, he was spending most of his time staring out the window at the passing wilderness – or really lack thereof, they were still stuck in Arizona, driving through sandy stretches of land for a while. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can we pull to the side for a second?” Keith asks, turning around in his seat to grab in the back seat for what is most likely his camera bag, “I wanna get a picture or two…” 

“Of the barren desert?” 

“Technically, this isn’t a desert, but yes. I wanna take a few pictures of the barren desert.” 

They pull off onto a near empty portion of land, there’s a few patches of plant life – spiky looking green plants that seem to burst out from the sand. Shiro watches as Keith crouches down next to one with his camera in hand, poised in front of his face. He licks his lip as he lines up the shot and pressed down on the button.  
Keith is crouched down completely still, the line of his back perfectly straight – Shiro has daydreams about Keith’s back, which he realizes isn’t what one would normally daydream about when thinking of their crush but Shiro doesn’t think too hard on it. The first time Shiro saw Keith shirtless it took him far too long to look away from the almost pristine expanse of pale skin that curved and dipped over muscles that Shiro knows could shoulder almost twice Keith’s own weight. At what he deems his lowest points, Shiro has visions of what it would look like to see Keith’s spine move as he bends over something, a desk… the dining hall tables… 

The sound of the shutter brings Shiro back to the current moment and mixes in with the few cars flying by on the highway a couple feet behind them, carried on the breeze that sweeps through and rustles the sand. 

As if on cue, as the shutters stop, Keith slowly stands up and walks back towards Shiro. “Block the sun for me for a minute, yeah?” he says as he grabs Shiro’s arm and moves him accordingly. 

Shiro stands a little taller, trying to use his full height to his advantage, Keith looks up and smirks, “Thanks.” 

When Keith deems his pictures as good enough, after asking Shiro two times and debating with himself for five minutes, they go back to the car and continue on.

They try to play the license plate game but by the fourth time Shiro repeats the rules he decides that Keith isn’t ever going to fully grasp it and decides that they instead play ‘I’m going on a picnic…’ which he regretted by the time they got to the letter R and were already bringing cumquats, a guillotine, monogrammed tea towels, and postmodern poetry to their picnic.

Shiro’s driving shift ends with Keith insisting they listen to “throwback jams” when he wakes up from his second nap, and they pull up into a Salt Lake City gas station to the musical stylings of – as Keith put it – “the glorious and iconic” Christina Aguilera, Lil’ Kim, Mya, and P!nk. Shiro was honestly surprised when ‘Lady Marmalade’ cut it as one of Keith’s choices, but he didn’t question it.

They switch duties after they fill the car up with gas, Keith still insisting that Shiro keeps his music choices to songs that came out between 2000 and 2010. 

They’re about half an hour out from the city when Keith starts rummaging through his pockets with his right hand, looking for something. 

He lets out a small “a-ha” as his finds it.

“Light this for me?” Keith says, the joint he just put in his mouth hanging on by a thread as he jostles it around while talking.

“Keith seriously?” Shiro says, grabbing the lighter from Keith’s outstretched hand and leaning over the console to light the end of the joint, “Just know that I’m against this idea.” 

Keith slides his gaze over to Shiro for a quick second giving Shiro his best “try and stop me” look as he sucks in the smoke.

With his eyes back on the road, one hand stays on the wheel as he moves the joint from his mouth with the other and inhales the smoke again, deeper now Shiro knows so that it gets into his lungs. 

There’s an impressively large cloud of smoke when he exhales, “You’re always welcome to join,” Keith says, taking another quick hit and moving to pass the joint to Shiro, who cracks the windows a tiny bit. 

They’re driving down a stretch of highway that’s nearly empty save for two semis far ahead, there’s farm land on either side of them, it seems pretty safe to do this. “Alright, fine.”

He sees Keith pump his fist in victory as he puts the joint in his mouth and relights it. 

“Remember just suck it in and then breathe deeply when you get enough smoke,” Keith says, eyes shifting back and forth between the road and Shiro trying to decide which is more important to watch, the road, Keith, the road, Shiro thinks. 

It’s more of a cough than anything when Shiro exhales the smoke and Keith cheers for him, Shiro shakes his head, “That was awful. My throat burns.”

“That’s because you did it wrong, you let it sit in your throat you didn’t inhale as much as deeply as you should have.” 

The smoke swirls around in front of Shiro, the windows are cracked only enough to slowly air out the car, and he knows that just by sitting in with Keith smoking he’ll probably get a contact high. 

“I’m gonna leave the actual smoking to you, I’ll just enjoy the second-hand stuff.” 

Keith laughs a little to himself, “I’ll teach you properly when I’m not driving, I promise.” 

It doesn’t take long for Shiro to feel a little lightheaded, Keith is only a third of the way done with the joint, slowly working his way through it and Shiro doesn’t know how he’ll feel by the end if his current state is anything to go by. 

Something seems to be weighing him down, making his muscles feel a little heavier than they did a few moments ago, it feels better to let his arms just hang in his lap than try to move them. 

His head feels like it’s being molded by phantom hands, slight pressure massaging his head. It’s like being made of clay, he thinks, rolling his head to look out the window, my head is made of clay and some artist is molding it into a new shape. 

Keith’s deep bellied laugh makes Shiro pause his inner monologue, “What’s the artist molding it into?” Keith asks and Shiro realizes he said that out loud, he finds it hard to care though. 

“I don’t know, what shape do you think would look good?” Shiro’s head rolls to the left, taking in the sight of Keith at the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel, joint between two fingers as the remnants of his last hit wisp around his face. 

Keith smiles for a second, glancing at Shiro quickly before looking back towards the road, “I think the current shape is pretty nice, don’t need to change much.”  
It takes a moment for Shiro’s hazy mind to realize what Keith said, and by the time he does Keith is taking another hit and turning to blow it directly into his face, “Lay back and enjoy the rest of the ride.”

Shiro can’t really enjoy the ride when there’s a steady warmth crawling up his stomach, Keith’s comment still playing in his head. He dazes in and out, ghost trains of thought that fade quickly and barely make sense past them all focusing on violet eyes and soft hair.

. . .

“Shiro, come out here with me,” he hears, a distant sound to his left, “oh my god you’re so stoned, get out here and look at this view.”

Shiro shakes himself back into reality, unbuckling himself and getting out of the car. Keith is standing a few feet away, camera around his neck, near the edge of a small lake. Shiro makes his way towards him. There’s land and lake stretching out in front of them for miles with just a hint of mountains in the distance. The lake seems too large from his vantage point, spreading to his right and left and trying to chase the mountains. 

Keith looks up at him when they’re finally standing next to each other, “How’re ya feeling?” The whites of his eyes are stained a faint pink, and there’s a smirk on his face that says he knows exactly how Shiro is feeling, “Your head still being molded by that random artist?” 

Shiro looks down, the haze sitting still in his body stopping the filter from his brain to his mouth, “I wouldn’t trust any other artist but you,” in his head it sounded better, it sounded a lot more romantic. 

In reality, Keith’s smirk splits into a smile and he laughs, “Weed makes you say so strange shit, Shiro.” 

Keith turns back towards the lake, letting Shiro reflect on what he said for a moment, “Uh, how are you doing?” 

“Good, everything seems a little more subdued, I’m gonna take a picture of this so I can see it in its full glory later,” and with that Keith is off towards the lake. 

Shiro watches him as he goes towards the edge of the lake and takes off his shoes, placing them meticulously next to each other. He rolls up his pant legs and wades slowly into the water, grabbing the camera from around his neck and setting up his picture. 

Shiro decides not to lie to himself, not to blame the high dimly pulsing through his body for the warm feelings that spread in his chest at the sight of Keith bathed in the late afternoon light. The sun is near the horizon line but not on it completely, haloing Keith in this orange light that Shiro thinks always belongs there, that Shiro sees whenever Keith enters a room. 

The sound of the shutter fades, and Keith takes a moment before he turns back towards Shiro, there’s a smile on his face and Shiro starts to think that maybe the one hit he took messed up his lung functions because in an instant all the air is knocked out of him.

“Come on, let’s get going the munchies are starting to hit,” without question Shiro follows Keith back to the car.

. . .

They’re too tired to go and have a sit-down dinner, which Shiro is grateful for because he knows he looks obviously high. Keith tells him that no one cares, no restaurant owner is going to turn away two stoned college kids with the munchies, “it’s really bad business sense, Shiro.”

Keith drives them through the Wendy’s drive-thru and then towards the motel they found online. 

There’s a neon sign that looks almost standard, a large arrow pointing toward the motel alongside two mountain peaks. It flashed in orange and green, flickering lightly – Shiro thinks so at least, he isn’t sure yet. Could be the weed. Could be his eyes bothering him because when’s the last time he blinked? Do people normally remember that?

Shiro shakes himself back into reality, blinking rapidly and finally registering the sound of Keith destroying his burger. It’s quite a sight seeing Keith’s lean form take in a four-patty burger with the ferocity of a starving man. There’s ketchup up by his nose and there’s lettuce stuck in his tooth, the grease from the fries is coating his fingers as they slip against the paper-thin foil the remaining third of the burger is in. 

He’s easily the most breathtaking thing Shiro has ever seen.

It’s then that his high brain pushes the realization to the front of his consciousness, he can feel it bulge out in big, bubbly cartoon letters across the front of his mind: _You have to tell him. ___

__Honestly, it had been something Shiro was dancing around for a while now. He knew that doing so could end his emotional turmoil – they’d either get together or Shiro would have to hope his unrequited feelings go away with time._ _

__It’s just, Shiro knows that Keith is it for him, he’s fully aware of it and on hard days he hopes it’s just his young heart playing games on him – but it’s now a fundamental truth about Shiro._ _

__Now, sitting in a random parking lot, crammed inside his beat up old Camry, in the middle of some backwoods town in Montana, the scene Keith creates as he sticks a frosty-covered fry into his mouth and checks something on his phone is something Shiro knows he will remember always._ _

__It’s a fundamental truth about Shiro – he’s over six feet tall, his eyes are gray, Keith is it for him, and he’s absolutely fucked._ _


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not like he wasn’t expecting Keith to pull out a joint as they walked through a secluded path in the park – it’s always about a 60-40 split on whether or not Keith is going to pull out a joint from God knows where – but it’s just that Shiro thought this would be an instance where he was expecting it just a little less. Shiro mentally commends Keith for always surprising him. 

Without so much as a glance to check if the coast is clear, Keith takes out a joint, places it between his lips, and lights up. He takes two hits, savoring each one, in through his mouth and out through his nose. 

Keith holds the joint towards Shiro, “Wanna hit it?” 

If he’s being honest with himself, Shiro doesn’t mind being high with Keith – though that’s the only company he’s had while high, no other frame of reference is available. Shiro’s also pretty sure that he’d be down to do anything if Keith was with him. 

It’s with that hopeless thought that he takes the joint and attempts a small hit himself. Suck it in, inhale, hold for a second, and exhale. 

It all goes smoother this time and when he exhales the smoke, the cloud floats up in front of him as Keith claps. “Wow, look at you taking a big boy hit,” he smirks, taking the joint from Shiro’s fingers, “that one’s gonna sneak up on you, just wait.” 

Keith takes another hit, slowly letting it out and looking up towards the sky as he does so. The twigs snap under his black boots as he takes the trail with a less calculated step than before. Behind him floats a steady trail of smoke, the joint hanging from his lips more often than from his fingers, and Shiro can’t stop staring at them. Shiro’s always sworn that Keith would have slightly chapped lips that taste like vanilla. It would be that sweet high sent of vanilla that signals “home for the holidays” and _warmth_ , and _love_ , and like a bite from the cookies Shiro’s mom made him all those years ago. Keith is the closest thing to a real home Shiro has felt in years. It’s terrifying. 

He knows better than to slip into that train of thought, it gets dark in there and he’d rather not have an anxiety attack in the woods, it seems like the safer option. He focuses back on the present just in time to see Keith turn to him, joint in between his fingers in offering. Without so much as a second thought, Shiro takes the hit and blows the smoke straight at Keith, if only to see the way his eyes light up when he makes his shocked face.

“Smoke a guy out and this is what he does to you,” Keith says, taking the joint and inhaling once again, twisting his mouth to the left and exhaling the smoke in that direction, obviously trying to make a point, “Learn some manners, Shirogane.” 

Shiro just laughs as Keith turns to keep walking deeper into the wooded areas. There’s no rhyme or reason as to where they’re going, at least, that’s what he thinks. He didn’t really have any plans for this trip, it was more of a “get Keith to Yellowstone, let Keith photograph Yellowstone” kind of trip with maybe a little confession on the side if Shiro ever got to that. He probably wasn’t going to get to that. 

He spent the previous night having this same internal argument, wide awake in bed while Keith snored lightly from his bed not five feet away. There were only two main outcomes: Keith either feels the same way or Keith doesn’t feel the same way. Though that thought then lead him to charting out in his head the multiple outcomes of those two main outcomes. Then the outcomes of those outcomes, and so on, until he was simultaneously thinking about the colors for their wedding and how not speaking to Keith for ten years would affect his life. Eventually he fell asleep, following the happier train of thought and indulging in the idea of table runners and flowers the same color as Keith’s eyes. Though, through the foggy haze of his waking thoughts, Shiro does remember telling himself that he’ll at least make an effort to confess, how much of an effort though was left up to wide-awake-Shiro’s discretion and it isn’t looking like that conversation is going to happen today. What a shame, really.

Shiro continues to follow Keith until they come upon a nearly open clearing, covered only in the canopy of the branches from the trees around them. The sun is peaking through at the perfect angle, allowing for streaks of light to make their way through the cracks in single streaks. The whole area had a hazy feeling, and Shiro knows that this time it isn’t the weed that’s got him feeling so. Everything is settled, as if it were covered in that see-through plastic that always adorned his grandmother’s couch. He feels like he shouldn’t be here, like this section of the forest was never meant to be seen, left only to nature herself, a private oasis she could escape to when times got tough. 

The eerie silence of it all was broken when Keith put his backpack on the ground and began to set up his tripod. He’s a couple feet away from Shiro, taking his camera off from around his neck and securing it to the top of the tripod. Keith crouches slightly, lining up the shot in his viewfinder. This process takes a while and it’s always something that Shiro enjoys, it’s as if he’s watching Keith work through his ideas in real time. 

Shiro thinks the most beautiful thing he’ll ever witness is Keith taking a photograph. He wants to take a photograph of Keith taking a photograph and hang it in galleries all over the world so that everyone else can experience the most beautiful sight known to man. Breathtaking. Worthy of hanging behind bulletproof glass alongside the Mona Lisa.

The story behind it all is something Shiro has heard before – Keith had always loved photography, had always taken pictures, had always kept that small digital camera his father taught him how to use right before he left and never came back. Shiro knows what photography means to Keith, he can see it every time he watches Keith set up a shot. It’s a blessing, Shiro thinks, to be able to witness Keith this way. 

Shiro stands in silence as Keith begins to take pictures, quietly talking to himself behind the tripod, tweaking the shot after each couple of clicks. Time seems to pass a little slower, Shiro can’t find any reason to complain. 

When Keith is all packed up, they walk across the clearing and disappear into the forest at the other end. The trees seem to climb higher into the sky the further they walk into the brush. Shiro can’t help but notice how bright everything looks, and this time he knows it’s not from the THC in his system but instead from the way the sun is catching everything. 

They walk in near silence, Keith with his camera hanging around his neck, and Shiro following dutifully behind.

No words are spoken until they come across a buffalo, no more than 10 feet away from them.

Keith turns to Shiro, eyes wide, and slightly caught off guard. 

The buffalo is sitting down, minding its own business, ignoring the two slightly high men staring at it.

Its head is bigger than Shiro’s entire body.

“To be honest, it’s more terrifying than it is majestic,” Shiro says, trying to do the mental math on how big the buffalo actually is when just its head is so massive.  
Keith says nothing for a second, still staring at the buffalo, and continues to walk forward, towards it.

Honestly, Shiro isn’t surprised.

“You want a picture, don’t you?” Shiro asks, standing still while Keith gets closer to the buffalo, fidgeting with his camera, getting it ready.

Keith nods his head, close enough to the buffalo now that talking would probably spook it.

The buffalo doesn’t move, doesn’t seem to care that Keith is getting closer and closer to it, his camera in front of his face now.

It’s near-silent in the small clearing, nothing more than a tiny space where the trees and shrubs decided not to grow.

The buffalo doesn’t move.

Keith lines up the shot.

_Click._

Shiro sees it in slow motion: The way the buffalo seems to look up, towards Keith. The way the buffalo then lets out a huff. The way the buffalo begins to rise onto its four legs. The way Keith’s face goes an almost translucent shade of white. 

Without another thought, Shiro runs towards Keith, throwing both Keith - backpack and all - over his shoulder, and going past the buffalo into the woods. The buffalo follows until the edge of the clearing, not caring enough to go into the labyrinth of trees and brush. 

It takes Keith smacking Shiro’s shoulder for 5 minutes and informing him that the buffalo is no longer following them for him to stop.

Shiro probably wouldn’t have stopped had Keith not notified him, he was too wrapped up in how close Keith was to getting attacked by the animal. 

He only breathes once Keith’s feet touch the ground and he isn’t immediately run over by 900 pounds of dirt and fur. 

“Thanks,” Keith says, looking down and adjusting his backpack, “you know which way we were coming from? You kinda just… ran.”

Shiro realizes he doesn’t, he realizes that he’s pretty sure they’re lost. He doesn’t want to worry Keith though, he just wants to enjoy that fact that he’s safe.  
“Uh, yeah I do. C’mon, it’s this way.”

It was the wrong way.

. . .

It wasn’t until a while later when they finally found their way out of the park. After the buffalo incident, they continued to walk throughout the park, finding more animals and a small river, walking through the seemingly endless paths and trails. Finally smelling the geysers after some time and making their way towards them, where the other people visiting the park were.

They find a small bar-restaurant a few blocks down from their motel, it’s getting late, around 10 o’clock. It’s a tiny place, somewhere locals probably go to drink their weekends away before going back to work on Monday morning. There’s a bar to the left as they walk in, about twenty seats lined up around it. The cheap neon signs behind the bar add a low hum to the sounds of people talking to each other and the bartender. There are ten or so bar height tables spread out in the area between the bar and the makeshift stage in the corner. It’s a place you know has seen generations of town residents, hasn’t changed its menu since the 70’s and serves the same kind of beer you ask your older friend to buy you during your freshman year of college. Shiro curses his bad directional skills again for bringing them out of the park gates at such a late hour and follows Keith to a high-top table by the bar. 

“I want whatever goes well with a beer,” Shiro says, ready to forget about the long trek back to the car. 

Keith laughs, a small thing hidden behind his tall, one sheet, plastic-covered menu, “Everything goes well with beer,” he peaks up from behind the menu, “Don’t feel bad about today, it wasn’t that bad… I liked it to be honest, got to take a lot of good pictures. Your ability to get completely lost anywhere you go came in handy this time.”

They both laughed, hiding their grins behind hands and sticky plastic, “Anyway, chicken fingers always go well with beer,” Keith places his menu down with some finality, looking over towards the bar. 

“Chicken fingers it is then.”

Their waitress walks over, taking their orders – two beers and two chicken finger baskets. “Oh, by the way boys, it’s karaoke night, starts in about forty-five minutes,” and with that, she’s gone. 

When Shiro looks up, there’s a near maniacal look on Keith’s face, “No, I’m not singing with you, no it’s not happening,” the waitress comes back for a second, setting their beers on the table and leaving with a small smile, “you cannot pay me to get up there and sing with you.”

Keith rolls his eyes, grabs his beer and downs it in one go, “Fine, if you’re not going to sing with me the least I can do is get drunk enough for the show to be entertaining,” and with that he flags down their waitress for another two beers. 

By the time their dinner gets to them, Keith has finished two and a half beers and is quickly making that number a full three. The first brave soul walks up to the microphone not too long after as Shiro starts in on his third chicken tender and Keith takes the first sip of his fourth beer. Shiro has one eye on the small stage and one on Keith who sticks a French fry in his mouth and puts his chin in his hand turning all his attention on the short women in faded blue jeans and a green Yellowstone hoodie as she begins to sing the first couple bars of Joan Jett’s _I Love Rock and Roll._ Shiro doesn’t know a thing about the technical side of singing, he does know that according to others he sounds good, but he doesn’t know whether or not he is in the right key when he’s caught singing in the shower. However, he does know that this woman is nowhere near the right key.

Keith hides his laugh behind his hand and looks over to Shiro, his gaze bright due to the alcohol in his system. “Still think we could do better,” he says, taking another drink of his beer. 

Shiro shakes his head, grabbing his beer – he’s only on his second, thank you very much – and taking a sip, “Don’t think so, I only save singing for the comfort of my own en suite bathroom.” 

Shiro swears he hears Keith mutter something like “fucking grad students” before he takes another big drink from his beer. 

“Fine, then I’m gonna do it by myself,” and with that Keith finishes his beer and gets up to walk towards the bar. 

Shiro watches from a distance as Keith – who to his credit is walking pretty well for a man who just drank four beers in about an hour – and to his horror he sees the bartender pull out a shot glass and a bottle of tequila. At this point, Shiro is well aware that trying to stop Keith from doing something he’s set his mind to is near impossible and that it’s not even worth his breath, so he watches on as Keith takes the shot without flinching and points to a song inside the large selection book laying on the bar top. With all the confidence of someone who just drank near their body weight in alcohol could have, Shiro’s eyes track Keith as he walks up to the small stage and grabs the microphone. Shiro knows it isn’t going to be bad, Keith can actually sing pretty well and on the occasions, Shiro has heard him, can also seem to hold a tune. 

Keith coughs into his hand and then the music starts. 

The synthesizer and bass drum sounds fill the tiny bar, Keith nods his head along and lets out a breathy, “Oh… Yeah….” in sync with the way the words get highlighted on the screen. Shiro, for the life of him, cannot place the song, cannot figure out why it sounds so familiar.

“I feel a hunger, it's a hunger that tries to keep a man awake at night,” Keith sings, looking up from the screen on the edge of the stage in front of him and out into the crowd, “Are you the answer? I shouldn't wonder when I can feel you whet my appetite,” his eyes land on Shiro, who gets hit in the face with exactly what song Keith is singing. Exactly what song _Keith is singing to him._ Shiro’s head is spinning, he knows what’s coming and seems to blank out for the rest of the first verse until he hears Keith’s smooth deep voice begin to belt out the chorus, “Take me home tonight, I don't wanna let you go 'til you see the light,” 

Keith’s moving now, slightly bouncing in his spot on the stage, holding the mic stand with both hands, “Take me home tonight, listen, honey, just like Ronnie sang…” it’s in that moment that Shiro knows he’s done for, Keith leans forward a little with the mic, staring him dead in the eyes when he sings, “Be my little baby…” 

Shiro thinks he’s floated to another plane of existence, that he’s not on Earth, in a bar with his best-friend-secret-crush, but in another universe entirely. Keith leans back with the mic and at that point notices that he can easily slip it off of the stand, and Shiro thinks back to every small thing he did that would allow for that to happen. Some god had to be getting back at him, he should’ve prayed more as a child, he shouldn’t have cheated on that test back in the fourth grade. The second verse starts, and Keith starts walking forward, leaving the little confines of the stage, and a small section of the bar _cheers._

“I get frightened in all this darkness, I get nightmares I hate to sleep alone,” it’s with that line that Keith does a full-on body roll – Beyoncé grade, every background dancer in any rap music video, body roll. 

Shiro is positive now that he entered the Twilight Zone, he’s never seen Keith do something like this, and he’s seen Keith drunk plenty of times. Maybe it was the tequila? It had to be the tequila. 

The subsequent lines are accented by Keith walking forward more, and Shiro’s blood runs cold as he realizes that Keith is making his way towards him. Almost on instinct, Shiro looks down, averts his eyes, and tries to ignore the heat running through his body as Keith stands right in front of him. Sitting at the table, they’re about the same height and Shiro would rather do anything but look Keith in the eye right now. 

Keith doesn’t give him a choice.

Two fingers come to his chin and slowly lift it up until Shiro is face to face with a very flushed Keith, singing directly to him. 

“I can feel you breathe… I can feel your heart beat faster,” Keith looks him dead in the eye, winks, and then turns around, walking back towards the stage while belting out the chorus. The crowd seems to love it, going wild, which Shiro honestly wasn’t expecting, and is simultaneously grateful and annoyed by. 

It’s a daze as Keith finishes the song, Shiro can hear it happening but he can’t fully grasp that it’s going on. Before he knows it, the second to last sing-through of the chorus is coming around and Keith has the whole bar singing along with him, and Shiro looks up because he can’t stop himself – he regrets it instantly. 

Keith is on stage, microphone in his hand, smile wider than Shiro swears he’s ever seen it, and he’s jumping along to the song. Shiro swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful, never seen Keith this carefree ever, and he can’t help singing along. 

The final chorus comes around and Shiro sings it loudly along with Keith and the bar. Keith notices, eyes burning Shiro into the seat as he sings the final “Be my little baby…” and the small bar erupts in applause. 

With a smile and a small bow, Keith struggles for a second to put the microphone back in the stand and makes his way back to his and Shiro’s table. 

As he sits down the waitress comes by with another beer and sets it in front of Keith, “From the bar,” she says, “you’re one of the only people we’ve gotten in here that can sing worth a damn and your friend over here,” she hitches a thumb back at Shiro, “was losing his shit over it. It was fun to watch.” 

Keith lifts his beer in a small salute towards the bar, “Thanks,” he says to the waitress before he takes a drink and she walks away. 

“Looks like you’ve got a fan club,” Shiro says nodding his head back towards the bar. 

Keith laughs half to himself and half into the beer he hasn’t loosened his grip on, “Lemme finish this and then let’s go back to the motel, I have something I wanna do.” 

_. . ._

Keith drags them through the door of their motel room, his hand wrapped tightly around Shiro’s, who’s being pulled so hard he’s sure he’s about to be out two flesh arms. He releases Shiro’s hand and pulls at his own jacket until it roughly rips off, throwing it onto the counter of their small kitchenette, and stalking toward the beds looking every bit the poster boy for drunken determination. Shiro takes a moment to take inventory, making sure that Keith remembered to take the key out of the lock and fully shut the door, but regretted his decision of diverting his attention when his eyes finally landed back on Keith.

Keith was bent over the nightstand sat in between their beds, pulling at things until the digital clock went black and the lamp shut off. He’s facing away from Shiro, bent towards the wall. 

When he straightens back up, he lets out a small huff and places his hands on his hips, “I’m gonna need your help with one thing in a minute,” he says, tipping his head back a little, indicating that the “you” in question was in fact, Shiro. 

After he makes his little announcement, Keith moves to the right side of the night stand, grabbing the back and tugging it away from the wall, moving behind it when he had enough space. He bends lightly at the knee, puts his right foot forward a little bit, and starts to push the nightstand out past the ends of the beds on either side.   
Shiro immediately becomes fully invested in Keith’s mission in what seems to be destroying their hotel room. 

“Hey, uhhh.. whatcha doin there buddy?” Shiro asks, looking directly at a slightly proud Keith, who is now standing behind his freshly moved nightstand, about a foot away from where the beds end. 

Keith looks up and meets his eyes, “I’m making a fort,” there’s a small gleam in Keith’s eyes that lets him know Keith thinks this is a wonderful idea, “we’re gonna push the two beds together, c’mon help me do it.” 

With that, Keith walks to the outer side of the bed to his left, looking over at Shiro and patiently waiting a minute for Shiro to full process what Keith told him, what he was asked to do, and then to actually do it. With Shiro in position, the two push the beds toward one another until they meet in the space in the middle. 

Keith smiles for a moment, looking triumphant, before he starts pulling the sheets off of the bed in front of him, leaning over the bed to untuck the sheet from the other side, he looks up at Shiro, “Go into my suit case, grab my bathroom bag and take out the small baggie of hair ties,” he directs, giving Shiro a pointed look when he doesn’t immediately move on to carry out the request. 

Getting the hint, Shiro quickly goes over to Keith’s suitcase, and searches for the hair ties. When he finds them, he walks over to the bed and hands them to Keith, who opens the bag, grabs one out, and uses it to secure one corner of the sheet to the wall lamp near the corner of the headboard. Shiro now fully realizes what Keith is doing.

“How are we going to sleep if you use one of the sheets as the top of the fort?” Shiro asks, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Keith, who is sitting for a second and planning out which spots of the sheet he should tie and to what he should tie them to. 

It takes him a moment to respond, but when Keith looks at him, there’s a slight perfectly pink blush running over his nose, his eyes are shining, and he has a smile that says he was prepared for that question, and ready to show off, “Obviously we’ll just share the one set of blankets,” he says it in a way that shows how obvious Keith himself found the solution to be.

It scared Shiro shitless.

With that, Keith starts moving to the center of the two beds, to tie another section of the sheet up. Shiro takes this moment as his out, “Hey, I feel a little grimy, is it okay if I go shower? Think you can get this done by yourself?” He asks, looking towards Keith in time to see him nod his eat enthusiastically while he carefully wraps the hair tie around the arm of another matching wall lamp.

“Yeah, totally, get nice and clean and come back ready to enjoy the fort.”

Shiro’s eyes bug a little, taken off guard by Keith’s request. Maybe Keith’s limit is three beers. That seems like a good limit, sounds like something you shouldn’t go two beers and a couple tequila shots over. 

After a moment, Shiro moves to grab his sweatpants, towel, and bathroom bag, walking over to the small bathroom, in all its yellow tiled glory. He shuts the door, puts his things down on the closed toilet seat, and stares himself down in the mirror. 

This whole night has spiraled out of control, leaving Shiro with the very real possibility of sleeping in close quarters with Keith and his heart hasn’t stop pounding since Keith insinuated it. He tries to think of the most platonic way two people can sleep together and decides that back to back is pretty good, of course with space in between them, they could probably manage that. 

Decision made, Shiro strips down and gets into the shower, trying to relax his fast beating heart. He closes his eyes, standing other the spray, and just exhales. It’s peaceful for a second, until his mind wanders to the feeling of a warm body behind him, of soft strands of hair touching his back, of the weight shifting with each breath. There’s a warmth radiating off the pressure, and Shiro shivers with the knowledge that the warmth he’ll feel tonight will come from Keith. 

With a guilty conscious, which only came once Shiro let the steam help clear his brain a little bit, he finishes his shower and gets dressed. He goes about it slower than usual, knowing that once he goes out there, it’s going to become an extremely rough night.

When Shiro finally opens the door, it’s to the image of Keith curled up, on the edge of the bed closest to the bathroom door, sound asleep. The sheet from the bed over is now stretched across half of the two beds. Keith had taken out his tripod, slid it up a little, placed it on the nightstand still at the ends of the beds, and tied an anchor point of the sheet to it. From the looks of it, that end of the sheet is up high enough so that when laying under it one could still the TV. Shiro was pretty impressed, he couldn’t lie. Drunk Keith did a great job at making half a fort. 

It takes Shiro less than a minute to figure out what to do, grabbing the pillows and comforter from the sheet-less bed and moving to make the orange patterned couch his bed for the night. When he’s wrapped up in the blanket, pillows set around him, shielding him from the scratchy fabric of the couch, Shiro quickly reviews his day, trying to pin-point the exact moment it all went array. 

He can’t help but come back to that moment in the bar, the moment Keith froze for a second, realizing exactly what it was he wanted to accomplish and then immediately following through, working towards it with a fiercely focused determination. His face went from the softness of sadness, at Shiro refusing to sing with him, but then has a moment of pure clarity, his eyes becoming a fraction brighter and his mouth twitching with a small smile. Shiro holds the image near as he drifts off to sleep, deciding that holding off on his confession was a good idea. Keith couldn’t process such news in his drunken state, it was fine, totally okay that Shiro chickened out. Again. He decides that tomorrow will finally be the day.

When Shiro wakes up the next morning to Keith puking into the toilet, he decides that maybe he should put it off a little longer.


End file.
